


Tossing and Turning

by foxcatcher



Category: DEFEND Indy Wrestling, Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Boys Being Cute, Casual Sex, Community: wrestlingkink, DEFEND Indy Wrestling - Freeform, Followed By Less Casual Sex, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mark Discovers Some Things About Himself, Prompt Fill, Sharing a Bed, Those Defend US Tour Diary Videos, Though It's Technically Sharing a Sofa, Tickle Fights, Touring, boys being stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21854260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxcatcher/pseuds/foxcatcher
Summary: It's the last night of their US tour and Mark can't sleep.-Prompt fill for the kinkmeme, inspired by those adorable DEFEND Indy Wrestling video diaries Mark and Pete made ages ago.
Relationships: Mark Andrews/Pete Dunne
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15
Collections: The Wrestling Kink Meme kicks out at 2!





	Tossing and Turning

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt on the kinkmeme - https://wrestlingkink2.dreamwidth.org/423.html?thread=690343#cmt690343 - which requested Pete and Mark having their first time together, inspired by those adorable Defend video diaries they made back in the day. Though it may have ended up less playful than the OP described and more... whatever this is.

Mark couldn’t sleep.

Another American town, another late night, another sofa in some dank basement. It seemed unreal – tomorrow would be their last day in the States. Just one more match before they'd be on the plane back home, done with their big American tour, and Mark felt like he’d been lying awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, his mind buzzing with everything they had seen and done for the past few weeks.

Of course, it didn’t really help that Pete was stuck on the same sofa and _kept_ turning.

It wasn’t unusual for them to crash with guys from the local promotion – there was no way in hell they could have afforded the tour if they didn’t – but it was the first time their American buddy hadn’t even managed to scrounge them a folding bed or an air mattress or anything like that. Of course, Brian had been ever so apologetic, and it wasn’t like they had loads of other options, so him and Pete had squeezed together on the musty brown couch in Brian’s basement as best they could, foot to face, and tried to catch some sleep before their big day.

The cushions dipped as Pete turned again, kicking Mark in the face in the process.

“Pete,” Mark hissed, to no reaction apart from another kick to the face.

“ _Pete_ ,” he hissed again, a little louder, and prodded the other man with his foot. Pete shifted, kneeing him in the stomach. “Pete, stop fucking turning. I know you’re not asleep.”

He kicked out, aiming for somewhere around Pete’s thigh, and immediately, Pete kicked back at him, done with pretending to sleep, until the two were flailing and kicking at each other like children, giggling with it. Pushing the covers off them, Pete lunged for Mark’s knee like he was about to put the blond in a leglock, but Mark quickly pulled away, already turning over to face his friend, trapping him against the armrest.

“Oh, you’re in for it now,” he grinned at Pete, digging his fingers into the Brummie’s ribs.

“Okay, okay! Mercy! I give up!” Pete wheezed, wriggling with laughter, but Mark didn’t budge. Using his weight to keep Pete down, he continued the onslaught, batting at Pete’s hands when he tried to push Mark off.

Finally, Pete tapped his palm frantically against the back of the couch, near tears.

It was only as he eased back to let Pete catch his breath that Mark realised just how… compromising their position had become. Pete was lying under him, his wrists pinned to the armrest behind his head with Mark kneeling between his spread legs, almost crotch to crotch. Mark would have made some (totally hilarious) joke about it, but the room seemed to have got a lot warmer all of a sudden. He tightened his grip on Pete’s wrists, feeling the pulse beating under his fingertips.

“Do you want to…” he begun, not really sure if he knew what he was asking. It wasn’t like it was unusual amongst people in their line of work – travelling as much as they did, rooming together, training together, drinking together. At some point, the lines became somewhat blurred, and it was pretty common for guys to blow off a little steam together before a big match, without it meaning anything more - what happened on the road stayed on the road and all that. It was just… He’d never done anything like that with Pete before. Hadn’t ever thought about it before, and Mark knew they were entering unknown territory by him even half-way asking about it, but right now, he couldn’t think about anything else, hard in his stupid cartoon-print pyjama trousers.

And Pete hadn’t moved yet

“Do you…” Mark started again, hoping to God Pete wouldn’t make him say it out loud.

Luckily, Pete seemed to get it. He nodded dumbly up at him, still a bit out of breath, his eyes bright, like he was waiting for Mark to make a move. Mark swallowed. He was pretty sure he could see a flush creeping down the other man’s neck, even in the half-dark.

Shuffling forward on his knees, Mark slotted himself closer between Pete’s thighs and rolled his hips experimentally against his friend. There was something slightly absurd about the whole situation – two mates about to dry-hump each other on a couch they could barely fit on, surrounded by tattered boxes of Christmas decorations and broken training equipment – but at the same time, it felt very different to the other times Mark had done this. The air around them was hot and thick, the basement overwhelmingly quiet. He rolled his hips again, building a slow, unsure rhythm against the other man. Pete still hadn’t moved, his hands by his head even though Mark had released his wrists, and it was doing almost as much to him as the barely-there noises Pete made as Mark slid their fabric-covered erections together. He ground a little harder into Pete, the friction from the layers separating them maddening, bordering on painful – this time, Pete moaned lowly, fingers curling into his palms, and Mark decided that they needed to get their sweatpants down, like, _right now_.

It was a little awkward, fumbling with the waistbands of their trousers when Mark didn’t want to move more than an inch away from Pete, but it was so worth it for that first touch of warm skin against skin. Mark wasted no time, quickly spitting in his palm and wrapping it around their erections, watching as Pete arched up from the couch, swearing under his breath and grasping at Mark’s arms. Without any particular aim, Mark let his free hand wander, sliding it under Pete’s shirt and pushing it up over his chest. It was strange seeing Pete like this – hot, yes, absolutely, but also strange, watching that body he’d seen a million times before becoming brand new and unexplored. He brushed his fingers absentmindedly over Pete’s nipple, running his thumb over the heads of their cocks on the next upstroke. Pete let out a gasp, hands grasping blindly at the couch, and Mark _needed_ to hear that again – he repeated the motion, flicking his finger back and forth over the hard nub before pinching it gently, making Pete squirm under him.

Greedy for more, Mark continued his exploration, tightening his grip around their cocks and speeding up his strokes. He pressed his thumb against Pete’s lips until he parted them enough to slip inside, sliding against his tongue, a placeholder for all the filthy things rushing through his mind. Pete was breathing too hard to do much more than lap at the digit, gazing up at Mark with half-lidded eyes, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Mark was aware that maybe, just maybe this wasn’t about blowing off steam before the last day of the tour anymore – but it was hard to get too bogged down in that when Pete was making those sounds, pliable and open underneath him. Enthralled, Mark pulled his thumb out of Pete’s mouth, rubbing it over his lips until they were glistening in the dim light.

He was leaning down to press his mouth against Pete’s before he could stop himself.

Mark felt more than saw his friend’s eyes flutter shut, lashes brushing against his cheek. Kissing wasn’t usually a part of this – some last, stupid, no-homo insurance that it was totally just bros helping each other out and nothing more – but they had long since crossed that line. They both tasted like toothpaste, but beneath the minty freshness and the smell of Brian’s shower gel and that awful body spray that Pete insisted on covering himself in every day, there was something else, something that made Mark want to press Pete further into the sofa, made him want to bite and mark. An image from earlier that day came back to him, watching Pete as he tried to chat up some American bird with snake bite studs at the mall, like he was literally 14, and he felt a hot spark of jealousy at it.

On second thought, perhaps he _had_ thought about this before.

Mark licked into Pete’s mouth, jerking them off with firm, quick strokes, but it wasn’t enough. Without breaking the kiss, he grabbed Pete’s knee, lifting his leg up towards his chest so he could lean in even closer. The friction around their cocks was too dry and tight, it was too hot, the sofa smelled old and musty, but he wouldn’t move for anything in the world, lost in Pete’s wet mouth and those keening sounds. Pete was getting close, hips moving against Mark, meeting every stroke of his hand. The kiss was growing sloppy and Mark could feel his strokes becoming clumsy and uncoordinated, but he just needed a little more, just -

Without warning, Mark pulled away and let go of their cocks. It earned him an annoyed whine from Pete, chasing after his mouth, but he was quickly silenced as Mark shifted on the cushions, pressing Pete’s leg tightly against his chest and sliding his other hand under Pete to grab a handful of his arse so he could thrust against the Brummie, cocks sliding against the sweat-slick skin of their stomachs. Pete moaned into his mouth, soft and urgent, clinging to him like Mark was actually fucking him, and there were so many things Mark wanted to do to him, wanted Pete to do to him… 

It was all over too quickly. Mark came first, with Pete closely behind, falling into a sweaty, faintly sticky heap. _Well_ , Mark thought as he listened to Pete’s breaths evening out, _it was nice as long as it lasted_. Not only had he thoroughly defiled their host’s couch, but he’d gone and fucked up his tag team as well, possibly along with his friendship. That’s what he got for thinking with his dick. He could only hope the trip back to the UK wouldn’t be too awkward.

As he laid there, wallowing in his post-coital self-pity, there was the gentle press of something against his cheek. A kiss, soft and a little damp. Turning around, Mark was met with Pete’s flushed face, smiling happily, almost shyly at him – which was all kinds of ridiculous after what they had just done, but Mark could only grin back at his friend. He had a feeling they’d be just fine. 

Maybe there was a chance he’d get to do some of those things after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and, yes, the title is absolutely a terrible pun. Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


End file.
